Art in the museum

If you've met Lauren, you know that she is an artist. She draws daily—in homemade comic books, on random scraps of paper, on math homework, napkins, you name it. She's won a few art-related contests here, and her drawing "Tigerland" was recently a finalist in a contest for La Celebración del Día Mundial de los Animales (celebration of world animal day) here in the San José area.

Last Sunday, the pictures created by the finalists were all hung in the Museo de los Niños (children's museum) in San José, and we went there for a ceremony to honor the kids. Everyone received a certificate and a year's worth of Pets y Mas magazines. Lauren, despite her reluctance to use her Spanish, is enjoying reading parts of her magazines and looking at the pictures.

Traveling to the museum requires a trip into downtown San Jose and a drive through a seedy district. There is a lot of poverty in the area as well, so it's a seemingly unusual location for a children's museum.

The museum has a fascinating history as well—it is a former barracks and penitentiary. The prison housed some of the country's worst criminals from 1910 to 1979 and was said to be horrible and chaotic. Some of the prison's former cells have been preserved, and along the walls in the entry is an art exhibit about the prison's history, including many before-and-after photos of the prison and now castle-like museum.  There are ghost stories about the place as well, with one in particular about a five-year-old girl who went to visit her father in prison and was killed by him during her visit. Yet despite the spooky past of the place, the museum really is a terrific place for the kids with lots of cool exhibits.

After the ceremony we walked around for a bit and decided to get home before it got too dark and rained too hard. (Yeah, we didn't escape the rain, but it's October—very normal here.)  It was a fun twist to an otherwise ordinary, rainy season Sunday.

Munching your morning coffee

If you're a coffee drinker in Costa Rica, you're in luck! From what I've been told (though I'd never know from personal experience), CR has some amazing coffee. We've seen it growing right on the mountainsides, and if Dan's coffee consumption is any indication, the joe is delicious.

Now, if you're an avid coffee drinker and a cereal lover ... well, I guess you've hit the jackpot if you're shopping at the local grocery store, all thanks to McCallum's Coffee Flakes. I have no idea if these corn flakes covered in java pack a wallop of caffeine, but at least they're low in sugar, and they're made right here in CR. Afficionados can choose from capuccino, mochaccino, and vanilla—all for about four bucks a box.

¡Pura café!

Morning hike at UPEACE

The Universidad para la Paz (University for Peace), about 20 kilometers southwest of San Jose, boasts a gorgeous natural reserve composed by a secondary forest and the last remnant of primary forest in Costa Rica's central valley. The area is protected and is home to mammals such as monkeys and deer, reptiles, and more than 300 species of birds. The forest also hosts approximately 100 varieties of trees and a whole lot of beautiful butterflies, including my favorite, the blue morpho.

We recently went with our Canadian friends the Derksens for a hike around the reserve. It was a dry morning, perfect for getting outside, and we had a wonderful time. Near the end of our hike was an obstacle course area. The girls had fun scaling the climbing wall, especially.

It was a bit hazy when I took this photo, but this looks down into the valley where we live. If you click on the photo to make it bigger, you can see a large green and brown patch in the middle of the picture with trees curving around it. Right above that is a cluster trees (where we live) and some large, cream-colored buildings, one of which is home to Dan's office.

We were all very hungry after our hike and stopped at Zompopa's—my favorite soda (traditional Costa Rican eatery)—for some chifrijo (oh, so good!), fried cheese dice, nachos, and yummy fruit drinks. The place was decked out in red, white and blue for Costa Rica's Independence Day (September 15), and you may be able to see a streamer and a bell in the bottom of the photo.

An afternoon swim followed our meal, and by the end of the day we were all good and tired. A great day to be in Costa Rica!

Wild wheels

A groovy guy in this humdinger of a car pulled into the parking spot next to mine at the market. Erin and I thought it was so cool, she took these photos. Bet the owner never loses track of his wheels in a crowded parqueo!

"Lady" Liberty

My friend Brenda and I saw these guys from way down the street and wondered, "Is that really someone dressed as the Statue of Liberty??"

Yep, it was! When they saw Brenda had pulled my camera out for a photo, they were happy to oblige with a wave.  I'm not sure if they were hoping for a big sale to a passing American or what the deal was with the costume and art, but it was funny and unusual to see a man dressed as a symbol of the United States on a busy street here in Santa Ana.

Licensed to drive

Before we knew we were staying an additional year in Santa Ana, I remember feeling relief that we’d never have to renew our driver’s licenses here in Costa Rica. And now? I guess the joke’s on me. About a week ago our licenses expired and we had to bite the bullet and have them renewed.

Maybe you’re thinking this shouldn’t be such a big deal. After all, in the US you head to the DMV, show a couple of forms of ID, pass a vision screening, lie about your weight (oh wait, is that just me?) pay your $25 and smile for the camera. It’s a hassle, sure, but really not that bad. Right?

Just pondering a morning spent with the Costa Rican bureaucracy filled me with dread, although renewing a license isn’t as bad as renewing residency. Regardless, it’s an evil necessity, and so Dan took off work on Wednesday morning and we were off to Uruca. Seriously, I’m not even going to discuss the experience that can be driving in Uruca—particularly when there is construction on the highway exits—other than to say it’s bad and it’s scary and we both hate it. Whew.

Our first stop was the “dictamen”—a “medical office” (note how loosely I use that term) a few blocks from the official licensing site. This is the biggest racket around. We stood in a long line to then pay about $30 each for the medical exam, which is basically answering questions about health, reading a row on the eye chart (in Spanish, so don’t mess it up!), getting blood pressure taken and … wait for it … getting a blood test to verify blood type. This is a new aspect of the licensing process. I’m guessing it was implemented to help the bazillions of people in CR traffic accidents each year receive the right type of blood at the hospital. Again, whew.

Gotta admit, I wasn’t too thrilled about this blood test business. I’m not afraid of needles, but I am afraid of dirty needles, unsanitary conditions, and getting something like this done at a dreary, government establishment. Dan and I know our blood types but didn’t have any official documents to prove it, so off to the little room we went.

I was relieved to see the laboratorio was clean (but still dreary—ha!), there were needles in sterile packages, plenty of alcohol wipes and a nurse with fresh gloves. Now, when I was in 7th grade science we tested ourselves to learn our blood types (I don’t even know if we had gloves—can you imagine?!) with just a finger prick. So I’m wondering why the government needs an entire vial of my blood. Are there other plans for this? And can you imagine the uproar regarding violation of civil liberties (hello, Big Brother!) if the US government required a vial of blood to be a legal, driver’s license-carrying American? Yeah, me neither!

After the blood draws we went to another room for the medical exams, then had to leave the room and wait for our blood test results. Once someone came out and found us (we were just kind of standing with a bunch of other people but are easily recognizable for our US-ness) we had to go back to the doctor so he could fill in the blood type on our medical form. Now we were ready to get in yet another line and pay the $22 a piece for the licenses. A hundred dollars for two new DLs. Good times, good times.

Papers in hand, we headed to COSEVI (Consejo de Seguridad Vial, the Council of Roadway Safety) a few blocks down the road. We got the last parking spot available—a red flag that there was gonna be a long line for the licensing, and we were not disappointed. I had paper ticket #09 and Dan was #10. The electronic sign showed person #77 had just been called. Time to take a seat for what I think is a rather amusing aspect of this entire process.

In this large waiting area are four long rows of about 20 black chairs. As each person enters the queue, he or she sits in the chair closest to the end, all the way in the back. Then, as each person from the front row is called into a cubicle to receive a license, everyone stands up, moves one chair over, and sits down again. And so on. And so forth. So Dan and I got to do this more than 30 times. Stand up, move one, sit down. It’s not a speedy process (especially when the licensing agents take a coffee break in the middle of the morning), but you know, it was relatively peaceful and cool in that room, and Dan and I took the opportunity to chat, laugh, note the big picture of Jesus hanging in the waiting area (not gonna see that in the US either) and just be together. Nothing like a little quality time between husband and wife, all while doing the COSEVI Driver’s License Shuffle.


(See the guy starting to stand? Gotta fill in that empty seat next to him! Thankfully I got this photo to demonstrate, plus you can see the Jesus picture above the plants.)

Eventually our numbers were up. We headed to separate cubicles, gave our pertinent info, and got our spankin’ new licenses. The process from start to finish took about three and a half hours, but we made it. These new licenses are good for another five years, meaning we’ll be back in the US long before they expire, but at least we’re legal now.

And you know what? They didn’t even ask us for our weights.

¡Pura licensia!

Ring, ring, why don't you give me call?

Two years and one day after moving to Costa Rica, and (drumroll, please!) we have a landline! Erin can now call her friends without me nagging about the cost of the cell phone bill. She's the main reason I wanted this line, and now it's finally installed. It's almost hard to believe.

I'd been working on contacting the right people to get my line installed for so long, and I finally made some headway shortly before I left for summer vacation.

In June, the construction company came out to make the final connection for our phone and discovered something odd and problematic—though our neighbors have phone service, no cable existed for our house. We arranged for the cable to be run (which entailed digging up small patches of neighbors' yards) while I was in the States, and on August 11 the electrician would return to enter the house and make the hook-up.

Unfortunately, the construction fellows decided not to begin digging until August, when I had already returned. So I watched as a guy with a shovel carved a hole into my grass, then groaned when he told me my neighbors to the left did not want the little piece of their yard dug up, despite them realizing that we sit with no landline.

The good news? The land to be disturbed is "common property" in the front of the house and so the electrician was able to do what he needed, regardless of the neighbors' wishes. He and a girl—I thought she was his sweetheart only to learn she is his daughter—visited my house on and off for a week, working here and there. One day, close to noon, I returned home from the store to find her napping in my driveway as he sat across from her reading the newspaper. Surprise!

Finally, on August 18 the phone rang. The electrician was calling me from my own kitchen with his cell phone, standing with a sheepish grin on his face.

¡Pura vida!

Back home again, in Costa Rica

Summer has come to an end, and we've jumped right back into our lives here in Central America, sleeping in our own beds, swimming in the neighborhood pool, and reconnecting with friends we haven't seen in a while.

School started on August 17—the second anniversary of our move to Costa Rica. I had hoped we could go to Pane e Vino for pizza as is our little tradition, but Lauren got her orthodontic expander that afternoon and was having a hard time eating much of anything. Regardless, I enjoyed taking the day to reflect on the previous two years and think about what's ahead for our third, unexpected year here in the Central Valley.

Summer memories

We had such an amazing summer in Wisconsin, it's hard to believe the time has flown by so quickly. In addition to what's been mentioned in my previous blogs, here are just a few of our favorite memories ...

The Dells
Everyone loved the Dells! Highlights included Noah's Ark and the Rick Wilcox magic show. We were astounded at the amazing performance from this professional magician and his beautiful wife—both Wisconsin natives, too. The girls got a poster of the pair and had them autograph it after the show.


It's a wild, wild life
Lauren's favorite animal—by far—is the duck. We went to Wildwood Park in Marshfield with Dan's parents and everybody got a chance to feed the ducks and geese. The girls couldn't believe how Dan's dad was able to scratch the goose's back. Lauren was in heaven!


In addition to the ducks, we saw plenty of deer, rabbits, wild turkeys, birds—including brilliant orioles and finches—beavers, otters, and of course farm animals. We still refer to Holsteins as "Ovaltines," in remembrance of Lauren's misnomer from toddlerhood.

Oh sure, you betcha!
Though Dan is a Wisconsin boy, he doesn't have much of that terrific accent we Wisconsin folk are known for. I, on the other hand, tend to pick it up again the longer I'm home. Dan and the girls got a kick out of hearing me slip back into "Uff da!" (a wonderful little Norwegian expression), "don'tcha know," "oh yeah," and "you betcha!" And don't forget that long "o" sound, too. (Think a much toned down accent from the movie Fargo and you'll have it.)

Norwegian everywhere
I grew up in an area with heavy Norwegian influence and love how prominent it still is there. It was fun going to the Barnes and Noble and seeing the row of Lena and Ole joke books on the shelves. It was also fun enjoying lefse and polsa (mmmmm, lefse!) at the art fair. While we were there, we even heard a woman talking about her recent visit to Norway. And Dan couldn't believe how many Olsons, Petersons, Larsons, Johnsons (and the list goes on) there were in my middle school yearbook. Uff da!

MOA, baby!
Yep, we hit the Mall of America again this year. Awesome bargains, great rides, yummy food—big fun! We shopped our hearts out this summer and came back to Costa Rica with our suitcases full and our credit cards still smoldering.

Great Grandad
La Crosse is known for its beautiful bluffs and rivers, and Grandad bluff is the most prominent in the area. Seventeen years ago on a freezing, snowy January night, Dan proposed to me on Grandad under the American flag. This summer we decided to go to the top of bluff, stand under that flag, and enjoy the view of Wisconsin, Minnesota and Iowa.


Beautiful babies (and other terrific family members)
We enjoyed so much time with our families this summer ... both sets of parents, siblings and nephews (no nieces!), aunts, uncles and cousins ... and to our delight we met two new little members of the family this summer, fraternal twins Jack and Michael. Erin, who turned 12 this summer (and begged me not to blog her birthday!), is now a Red Cross-certified babysitter and had a chance to help her aunt and uncle with changing diapers, feeding babies, and entertaining her little cousins. She did a great job! As for me, I already miss cuddling my sweet nephews and feel so blessed to have spent some time with them.

Preserving the past
One of my favorite things about spending summer in Wisconsin is that my girls are learning about their own family history. They see where Dan and I grew up, went to school and church, got married, and even where their grandparents grew up.

Each year we visit the iron foundry that my family has owned and operated since 1876. The kids love to see Grandpa and Uncle John, but they are also being exposed to something important to their heritage. Once in a while we find a foundry-made piece of history in the community, such as this 1898 water fountain (known as a bubbler in Wisconsin) outside the Onalaska library.



Hard to say goodbye
We were sad to leave our families and our beautiful country; this was our least favorite part of the summer! It means so much to me for my daughters to have this time with their family and to learn about their home away from home—which Wisconsin is for us no matter where we go. Thanks to everyone up north who shared this incredible summer with us. We'll always cherish the memories. We love and miss you!

Lazy day at the lake

Nearly every summer since Lauren was just a few months old, we spend a day at Lake Arbutus with my mom and dad. Twice my grandma has been visiting from Texas and has gone with us. Somewhere at home I have a photo with the four generations: Grandma, Mom, me, Erin, and bitty Lauren in her white bonnet.

This is a favorite family tradition, reaching back to when my parents were teenagers and used to spend the day at Arbutus together. I camped there as a kid and now I love going with my own daughters. The air smells like pine and the amber water is always refreshing. We take floats on the lake, and this year Erin is finally old enough to paddle herself out to the swim buoys, though the girls and I prefer getting rides from Dan in the bigger float (which got a hole in it this year but, thankfully, still holds us).

After time on the beach, we get ice cream cones at the camp store and walk through the woodsy grounds. Often we stop at Black River Falls on the way home to buy fresh corn on the cob for dinner, too. We've got great memories from our trips to Lake Arbutus.

Eat cheese or die

A trip to Wisconsin always involves hitting up favorite restaurants and a few trips to the grocery store. There are so many delicious foods we find here that we just don't find in many other places: lefse, beer brats with authentic rye brat buns (speckled with sesame seeds, of course) and tangy kraut, Old Dutch dill pickle chips, Coney Island dogs ... mmmmm!

But everybody knows (right?!) that Wisconsin has the best cheese around, and seeing long aisles hosting a wide variety of cheeses at the local grocery store (including plenty of selection from local dairies) is a bit of a culture shock coming from Costa Rica.

We Wisconsinites love our cheeses and are generally mad for tasty little snacks called cheese curds. There are dairies all over the state, making it possible for us to buy curds when they are best—super fresh! The mark of an ideally fresh curd is the squeak one hears when biting into it. If the curd doesn't squeak, it's past its prime.

We love cold cheese curds, but for a real treat we have 'em batter-fried. The cheese gets all hot and melty inside, and wow, how good! Some places (such as Culver's) bread the cheese curds, and while these are good, they're too much like mozzarella sticks and aren't nearly as tasty as those fried in a light, crispy batter.


Batter-fried cheese curds are a standard at Wisconsin fairs. We recently went to the Interstate Fair in West Salem and saw all sorts of fair goodies. We also toured the many animal barns, and at the end of one of the dairy barns, Dan spotted this message plastered onto a trunk with stickers: eat cheese or die.

We love America's Dairyland!

The good ol' summertime

The girls and I have left rainy Costa Rica for a terrific summer in Wisconsin. We've been here for two weeks already (hard to believe!) and are making the most of our time with Mom and Dad in my beautiful home state.

The sun goes down at dinnertime all year in Ticolandia, so we are relishing these gorgeous days and long summer nights. The girls especially have loved swimming at the aquatic center in Onalaska, hitting golf balls on the course at night with Grandpa, and playing softball with everybody.

We've also been out for ice cream (yeah, more than once, I'll admit), saw a local production of High School Musical, and been enjoying the local parks. One afternoon we walked on a trail through the marshes and saw an otter making his way toward the reeds. The weather has been cooperative, with little rain and cool evenings. It's a terrific change from the rainy season back in Costa Rica.



During a picnic lunch this afternoon at the park, I saw movement in the trees out of the corner of my eye. For just a moment I assumed it was monkeys, until I realized that the only monkeys in the park were sitting next to me eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Turned out it was two squirrels chasing each other, but it just shows that we've been in Central America long enough now to be used to seeing the monkeys, sloths, parrots, and other wildlife native to CR.

Of course we went and picked strawberries at Jollivette's again; it just wouldn't be summer here without homemade strawberry shortcake! Dan is coming up next week and has made us promise to save plenty of strawberries for him and to make shortcake then, too. This won't be a problem since Mom, Dad, the girls and I picked 40.44 pounds of berries. The picking is the easy part; it's the cleaning them that takes forever!

Erin was running out of clothes that fit by the time school let out, so we've been doing a lot of shopping. I brought a long list with me when we got here and it's about half done, not including all the school supplies we need to get.

I'm finding shopping—whether for clothes, groceries, or whatever—to be a little bittersweet. It's almost as if I'm going through culture shock shopping in the US on this trip; it's incredible how many bargains there are, how little things cost, and how easy it is to buy everything. I'm thrilled to be shopping but yet frustrated at knowing that soon I'll be back to where it's hard to find what I need for a reasonable cost. All this, and while I love to find great bargains, I'm not even a big shopper!

Switching gears ... I am really happy getting behind the wheel these last two weeks. The roads are smooth, drivers are courteous, and going places is easy. It's a pleasure to drive here and I would say actually relaxing compared to the stressful driving in Costa Rica.

In other news, we've been having a great time eating all the foods we miss so much: Taco John's, Coney Island, brats (with real brat buns and good kraut, of course), cheese curds, lefse, thick slices of ham, homemade mashed potatoes ... the girls get to the grocery store and it's an adventure for them. Erin in particular was stunned at the numerous long freezer aisles (compared to the one side of one aisle we have at the supermarket in CR). Let's hope we don't have to roll ourselves back to Costa Rica!

We have a lot of things planned for the rest of our summer, but truthfully we are just happy to be here in Wisconsin with our family and look forward to Dan joining us soon. As for tonight, I noticed there was a full moon earlier and now can hear the coyotes howling in the hills behind the house. It's good to be home!

Happy Independence Day!

"Star-spangled happiness
and banner waves of pride."
~Cherishe Archer

Vive la différence!

One of the joys of living in Costa Rica's central valley is being part of an international community. Whether it's in the workplace, the classroom, church, or at social events, we interact daily with people from all over the world.

Recently our family went to a party at the house of some good friends. The nationalities of the guests included Spanish, American, British, French, Mexican, Portuguese, Dutch, Italian, Polish, and Guatemalan—a very diverse bunch!

It's not uncommon for us to compare notes with friends on cultural habits, traditions, languages, foods ... it's a fascinating way to learn about other countries and peoples. I have always loved to travel, and living here has given our family an even stronger desire and determination to see more of the world. Sharing our experiences with people from other continents enriches our lives in many ways and allows us to appreciate different perspectives and cultures—and to also learn more about what we feel defines us as Americans. We love this aspect of Costa Rica living!

A beautiful beach wedding (aka: our whirlwind weekend in Guanacaste)

Last Saturday, our family breezed off on a long drive to Playa Real, a beach in Guanacaste (on the west coast of Costa Rica), to attend the wedding of our friends Norbell and Amalia.

Along the way we saw plenty of animals in and on the side of the road: cows, horses, dogs, pigs… it’s always like Wild Kingdom around here! Thankfully the traffic wasn’t too awful and we were able to stop for lunch at El Rinconcito de Doña Elda—a nice, open-air restaurant we’ve eaten at before with yummy food and (importantly—ha!) clean bathrooms.

We stayed at Bahia de los Pirates (Pirate’s Bay), about 10 kilometers down a gravel road, well off the beaten path. The bay got its name from the legend that Captain Morgan had a hideout in one of the islands right across from the beach. While I knew Morgan spent time in Central America, I thought he was strictly a Caribbean sailor … so who knows?


Our villa was near the top of the hill and we loved the views of the bay and the trees and birds. At one point a bright yellow bird (a tanager, I think) flew by and was absolutely brilliant.


It was so hot when we arrived, we quickly changed into swimsuits and spent a couple of hours at the pool with some friends until we had to shower and change for the wedding. (Notably, we left the pool before the groom, who was still in his swim trunks and bare-chested about an hour before the wedding was to start. Things are pretty laid back in this part of the country. ¡Pura vida, Norbell!)

Just around sunset, the beautiful bride and her handsome groom got married on the beach in a lovely ceremony. They couldn’t have picked a more appropriate setting, since Norbell is a surf addict and the couple has a house nearby.

The wedding was very nice (though still hot—whew!) and we had a lot of fun at the reception in the hotel restaurant. The food was good and the music was too. Lauren could barely keep her eyes open once the clock struck 9pm, so we took her back to the villa that we were sharing with our friends Carlos and Julie. Erin wasn’t ready to go and Julie—a very sweet Irish amiga—asked to keep our girl there for more dancing with the promise to have her back to us by 10:00. Erin was tickled to stay and headed up to the dance floor while Dan and I went to collapse in the A/C and get our little one to bed.

The beach was calling on Sunday morning and we headed out around 6:45 before the sun got high and the air grew too hot to enjoy a walk. We went south over some rough terrain and soft sand as we peered into tide pools, watched crabs scurry across the rocks, admired sea urchins hanging out in their watery holes, and watched for birds and lizards (saw both!). Eventually the girls started to wear out and we had breakfast and left for the four-hour return trip to the valley. We hated to leave so soon, but we knew it was best to beat the rain that was destined to fall on the Central Valley in the afternoon. (Thankfully we weren’t in it too long.)


Lastly, I would be remiss in not mentioning the beautiful shell sculpture we received as a remembrance of the wedding. Norbell’s mom made this amazing little portal (nativity scene) from shells found at the beach in Guanacaste. I’m contemplating carrying this to Wisconsin on the plane this summer and leaving it at my parents’ house because I’m so afraid it could break next year in the move. It’s too special and beautiful to risk having it damaged, and it reminds me of our friends and their wedding day—I love it!

¡Pura boda!

Don't call us ... we'll call you ...

And the saga continues! On May 18 I finally sprung for a new cordless phone (you don't wanna know how much I paid for it) and brought it home, all excited to finally have a landline after all this time. I read the phone's directions carefully, plugged that baby in, and threatened my family with something horrible if they picked up the receiver before 16 hours had passed. (Sixteen hours being the recommended time the phone needed to fully charge and work properly.)

The following morning I grabbed my cell phone and called our landline number, eagerly awaiting the ring. Which never came. And at this point, I just knew the idea of merely plugging in a new phone was too good to be true, and something had to go wrong with this venture. Sure enough, I picked up my brand-spankin'-new phone and found no dial tone. Zip, zilch, nada!

In sheer frustration I yanked out Dan's work phone (it took a lot of patience and effort just to untangle the cords behind the desk to figure out which phone I needed here) and plugged that in. As I suspected ... still nothing. The problem wasn't my new phone, it was something else altogether. And I steeled myself against the knowledge that this was going to require numerous phone calls and emails—in Spanish, of course, just to make it extra fun—to get the situation fixed.

I emailed my friend Eric, kind of a pseudo-landlord (since the real one is out of the country), and he called the phone company (ICE) and reported the problem. He then told me that ICE would be out to the house within a few days to check the line. I hardly thought this would happen, and here I am a week later and they never did show. Surprise!

Yesterday I called ICE and reported the problem again. They told me the issue is not with their installation, but rather a problem within the house: meaning, they couldn't help me. (The funny thing is, this morning my pseudo-landlord/friend called ICE again and they said they would look into it and send someone out. Good grief!)

Moving on ... I contacted the administrator for our housing area and she said I needed to have the construction guys come out and establish a connection between the phone line and the house for our landline to function. I had hoped she would get in touch with these guys, but instead she passed along an email address for me to use.

So yesterday I emailed the construction company, but I haven't heard back. So I just emailed them again and copied the administrator on this one. I will not be even remotely surprised if I have to continue bugging them for days to come, but if I keep cc'ing the administrator, maybe she'll get fed up and make a call, too.

Sooooooo ... two years from the initial request for a landline and here I sit, still using the 'ol cell phone for my national calls. Anyone want to place bets on whether I have a functioning line before I leave for Wisconsin in four weeks? I'll keep you posted!

¿Aló? I've got phone frustrations...

Extra! Extra! We finally got a landline!

Unfortunately we don’t have a house phone for the line. While we have many phones in this casa—three cells and three Vonage phones on one system that are our lifeline to the United States—the sad, pathetic cordless we had in storage for our landline has met its demise. I suppose we’ll soon go to Hipermas and see if we can find a decent phone for a reasonable price. I'm ready to have a clear reception for national calls!

¿Puede hablar más despacio?
On the topic of phones … speaking with native Spanish speakers on the phone is probably the biggest communication challenge we face that has nothing to do with cultural understanding and everything to do with the often poor cell phone reception and fast-speaking people on the other end. On many occasions I’ve asked a caller to speak more slowly, please, only to have the person continue at a hasty mumble. I’ve been hung up on more than once which was surely a relief to both the caller and to me.

¿Quién es?
Now toss in common Tico phone mannerisms and cultural habits, and things really get confusing. For some reason Ticos tend to dial a lot of wrong numbers—and often continue to call the wrong numbers—and then still may want to talk. Here’s a typical conversation, in English for your reading pleasure:

Me: Hello?

Caller: Who is this?

Me: I’m sorry, who are you calling?

Caller: Who is this?

Me: You called me. Who are you looking for?

Caller: Is Carlos there?

Me: I’m sorry, you have the wrong number.

Caller: I’m looking for Carlos Zamora. Who am I talking to?

Me: I’m sorry, you have the wrong number. There is no Carlos here.

Caller: Do you know Carlos Zamora? What number is this?

Me: What number are you trying to reach?

Caller: I’m sorry. (Click.)

And then, often just a few minutes later, the phone rings again. Guess who! If I get desperate, often I’ll just start speaking quickly in English and that usually stops the madness.

¡Llamé, por fa!
Hands down the most frustrating phone situation I’ve found here in CR is the reluctance of people—even professional businesspeople—to return phone calls. This is especially maddening when I am waiting for a physician to call me back. If I’m calling the doctor, the question is usually urgent and requiring a timely response. What I’ve learned—with the doctors and anyone else I want to speak with here—is that one cannot be shy and must be persistent, calling and calling until lucky enough to finally get the desired person on the line. This is not considered rude but rather a cultural necessity.

Para recibir sus mensajes, marque uno …
Last week my cell phone went wacky and when I called to get my messages, the recorded woman’s voice kept telling me to dial 193 for customer service. The problem is, when I’d call 193 the voice would tell me that I couldn’t receive my messages and I needed to … wait for it … dial 193. ARGH! There were multiple theories concerning the problem with my phone, but after a day and a half it suddenly fixed itself. Patience is most definitely a virtue in Ticolandia.

Lave sus manos …
This isn’t a frustration but rather an observation. Every once in a while I get anonymous text messages about seemingly random things, and yesterday’s took the prize. My phone beeped at me and delivered a public health message: a reminder to wash my hands thoroughly and use a tissue to cough or to cough into my elbow. We’ve been inundated with information, cautions, and quarantines at work and school related to the H1N1 flu—and now even the phone company is in on instructing us of proper hygiene. Thanks for the tip, muchachos!

¡Pura vida!

Nine is fine!

Lauren has finally caught up to her favorite number; our little girl celebrated her 9th birthday last week! Instead of having a big party, she's having a couple of friends sleep over (on different nights, since we can't seem to coordinate with everyone's crazy schedules) and we're also planning on celebrating in Wisconsin this summer with my family.

Lauren got some fun gifts (plenty of Garfield stuff, yep), but her friend Isabel earned the biggest smile when she gave Lauren the desire of her little heart—a really terrific skateboard! Yesterday Lauren put on her volleyball uniform and went to have some fun on the newly installed, gentle speed bumps down the street.

¡Feliz cumpleaños, Lauren!

Hair today, gone tomorrow

Last December, Erin donated her ponytail to Pantene Beautiful Lengths. Today, Lauren did the same and had nine inches of pretty hair cut that will be used to create wigs for women who lose their hair to cancer.

I picked the girls up from school so Lauren could wash and dry her hair, and then we went to the salon where Kathy measured and carefully cut the ponytail. We love Lauren's new, sporty 'do. It suits her just fine! I'm very proud of my sweet daughters and their giving spirits.